The Frame-Up (The Golden Arrow #1)(12)
“I do. And I bet my plants have better breath than your dog.”
I pause. “Was that an actual joke?” I’m smiling again. I can’t help it. Witty banter is my Kryptonite.
CHAPTER 5
I point to a lot on the far side of the building. “Park over there. It’s near the off-hour entrance.”
“Quite a few cars here for a Saturday,” he says, turning off the car and unbuckling his seat belt.
“Creative work waits for no woman,” I answer, slipping out of the car, then walk up to the side door. A quick flick of my ID badge and we’re in like Flynn.
“Let’s avoid mentioning the case, if that’s okay?”
“Secrecy works for me,” I agree.
The Genius building rises above us in the glass-and-steel style of every headquarters building in comics. Nondescript but impressive. Not quite Stark Tower, but we use seven floors of the total eleven, and that’s saying something in a town where rent for a closet can be as much as a bedroom in other parts of the country. I know that fact personally. After quitting my first “real” job out of college—in a law office, just like my dad had wanted—to work at Genius and being cut off by my parents, I lived in a friend’s closet for three months. If only my time in a cupboard had made me a wizard. I’m still bitter about that. I want a magic wand.
I hold the door to the back office open for him. I’m also an equal opportunity door holder, and I’m pleased to see that he lets me hold it for him without comment. “So anything in particular we’re looking for? You never did elucidate.”
Matteo’s eyes dart around as he steps through the door. A few people walk through the almost-empty break area, probably working on last-minute deadlines. Something I’m familiar with. “Let’s wait until I’m sure we’re alone.”
It’s a cagey answer, but I understand why minutes later when I follow him off the elevator. I’ve been praying for zero peanut gallery, but no dice. I can see Kyle’s feet propped on his desk as soon as we arrive on the fifth floor. During business hours we have our own floor receptionist to make it look fancy, though I like to think of our cubicles with the small bank of windows in the work area as the low-rent district. Smoke and mirrors up front, Walmart in the back. It’s hard to believe that as Office Space as our corner of the universe looks, we produce some of the most colorful and dynamic media in the world.
“Shouldn’t you be playing on your phone at home?” I glance pointedly to the phone in his hand where the Sim City app blinks—the guy is addicted. Kyle is wearing the male version of the office uniform: graphic tee, jeans that don’t fit quite right, and some sort of grungy tennis shoes. I like to hold myself to a higher standard and at least always cover my tees with colorful blazers. Andy and Kyle perpetually look rumpled. Despite Kyle being my coworker and Andy being my supervisor for five years, it’s like they roll out of bed surprised daily that they have to get to work—the fact that he looks the same on a Saturday proves my point. Kyle is the ultimate Peter Parker sans Spidey.
“Yo, MG. And . . .” Kyle swings his feet to the ground, his chronically broken chair tilting with a crunch of cracked plastic, then glances behind me. His eyes widen. Seeing the same guest twice is unprecedented in the years we’ve worked together. And I know exactly where Kyle’s brain has gone when his gaze darts between us and a slow smile spreads across his face. Time to nip this in the bud. I don’t have time to play the star-crossed lover or the lovely maiden or look like anything less than one of the guys in this office when I am up for a promotion. I work too damn hard to have it undermined by a man who drives a Prius. At least until after the “important announcement” scheduled for next week’s executive green-light meeting, which I suspect is when my boss will tell us whom he’s chosen for the newly created art director position.
“This is just—” But to my horror, Officer Herbal Tea crosses the room and holds out a hand to Kyle, leaving me standing like a sidekick with my mouth open.
“Matteo,” he says, shaking Kyle’s hand.
“Here, let me introduce you,” I grit through my teeth. I can’t believe this guy is running right over me. Doesn’t he trust me not to blow his cover, as agreed? “This is Kyle, my coworker.”
“Hey, man,” Kyle says, doing the stupid guy thing where he puffs up his chest to act more manly around another dude. I hate when guys do that, especially since I know for a fact Kyle’s favorite movie is The Princess Bride. And sometimes while he’s working, he watches it on repeat on his iPhone for background noise.
“What did you do to your arm?” Matteo asks in a way that reduces them to thirteen-year-olds comparing fight scars in my eyes.
“Oh, um. An old lady. Hit me.” Kyle forces a laugh.
I snort. “An old lady hit you? I thought you said you’d been doing parkour.”
Kyle’s face flushes briefly. “Oh yeah. I mean, I was. There’s this old lady who does parkour with us.”
“Whatever,” I mutter. I don’t have time for Kyle’s weird stories. For a guy who writes and draws for a living, he certainly is a dollar short in the imagination department today. Time to cut bait and run while the going is good.
I struggle not to say “Officer Herbal Tea” out loud. Matteo’s real name feels odd on my lips, like saying it makes him an actual person where he wasn’t before. “Matteo is just—”